Scars
by nicowa
Summary: Harry Potter dies in a random supernatural accident.. but Voldemort has nothing to do with it. Now there's a rogue prophecy on the loose, mutating and looking for someone... anyone... who can take his place and fulfil his destiny.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own HP or BTVS and am making no money, just lots of happiness!

Timeline: After S 5 for Buffy. AU after Ministry of Magic raid in OotP for HP.

Spoilers Galore for both!

AN: My thanks to my bff Caleno cos she's my beta, and she's just great to bounce ideas off!

--

Papers everywhere told the story. The Boy Who Lived - has died. Everybody who read it wept. Those who didn't, didn't need to. They were there. In his cold, cold room at The Burrow, Ronald Weasley cried. His heart broken. Harry had been his first and best friend. And he was gone.

Dumbledore sat in his overstuffed armchair high in his tower, away from prying eyes and curious people. His phoenix, Fawkes, flew round the castle and even in his tower, Dumbledore could hear the bird crying for the lost hero.

A tear ran down his face. However, that was all he would allow himself. Harry had died from a tragic accident, relatively untouched by Voldemort, so Dumbledore saved his tears for the rest of the world. The world that would have to face the wrath of The Dark Lord without the one person who could defeat him. Voldemort had, in effect, won by default.

In the library a lone figure sat buried in a large tome. Long bushy hair fell repeatedly in her face and she grew more and more irritated with it. But she let it pass. There were more important things to worry about. Hermione flicked the pages fast. Looking for a spell. There had to be a spell. A way.

Those who knew her and knew how close she had been to Harry would have been astounded. True, she was known as the most level headed witch – bar McGonagall – in the school. But surely she couldn't be this calm about her best friend's death.

In truth, she wasn't the slightest bit calm and when a tall shadow passed over her she jumped.

"Oh! Its you!" What do you want?" Her heart slowed as the shock wore off, but she was beginning to feel nervous now.

"Everybody's looking for you, you know." The newcomer told her, and then, though uninvited, took a seat opposite. Hermione frowned at this slight intrusion. "But I figured I'd find you here."

"Really?" Hermione scowled. "Well I'm busy so bugger off." Hermione didn't like to curse but some people just made her mad enough. Draco Malfoy being one of them.

"You won't find what you're looking for." He told her in that maddeningly calm voice she had gotten used to. Hermione shook her head. Refusing to listen. "Hermione-" He took her hand. "There is no book, no ancient tome that will give you the answers you're looking for."

She looked up at him now, tears slipping down her face. Something in the back of her mind registered the fact that this was the first time he had ever, willingly, touched her. "Hermione, you're going to hate me for saying this, but I'm going to be as blunt as possible." He took a breath. Hermione wanted to stop the words that she knew were coming but she couldn't move, couldn't breathe.

"He's dead." Draco said brusquely. "He's dead and he's not coming-"

"No!" Hermione jumped to her feet, wrenching her hand out of Draco's. The sound of the chair hitting the floor echoed in the high-domed room. "There is a way! There's always a way!"

"That's what you think isn't it!" Draco yelled, angry now. He stood. "Stupid, stupid!" Draco paced back and fort, a tiger in a cage.

"You think that's what magic does, is it? You think that's what life is like? If you look hard enough, you'll find it. You think magic is some all-purpose fixer-upper! Wave a magic wand and it'll go away. Or better yet-" He stood to face her. "Come back."

The tears were free flowing down her face now.

"Magic cannot bring somebody back from the dead, Hermione." His eyes were soft now. Hermione let out a sob. Horrified, she covered her mouth. She wasn't going to cry. If she was going to bring him back there would be no need to cry. So she couldn't cry. She couldn't.

But the floodgates had been opened now and she cried in great heaving sobs. Draco crossed the short distance between them and pulled her close. Just in time as her legs gave way beneath her as her grief consumed her. Draco half-lifted, half-dragged her to the chair he had left a moment ago and sat with her on his lap, rocking her gently as you would a small child.

"It's not fair, it's not fair!" she sobbed. "Why Draco? Why did this happen?"

However, Draco had no answers. Swallowing down a lump in his throat, he shook his head. "I don't know Hermione. I'm sorry, I don't know."

All was quiet in Hogwarts. Some knew the famous Griffindor, most thought they knew him and everybody had felt their lives touched by the young wizard. Quidditch fans recalled his amazing wins at the difficult game, others recalled his bravery in the Triwizard Tournament. Some, the few, recalled the great person, the good person.

In the Griffindor Common Room silence reigned. A deep heavy silence that those who shared it feared to break.

Eventually Neville looked up.

"Anybody seen Hermione?" He asked, in hushed tones.

Lavender looked up.

"I thought I saw her going to the library a while ago." Dean said.

For a moment nobody spoke. While they all knew that the library was one place that Hermione always went to when she wanted to be on her own, none of them thought she should be on her own.

Thoughts like '_at a time like this_', '_best friend_s' and '_wonder if we should_…'

Again, it was Neville who spoke first.

"Maybe we should…" He let it hang. For a moment nobody spoke.

"How could it happen?" Parvati suddenly burst out. "I mean… He's come through worse. He's been through things nobody else has ever faced alive and this-" She broke off. She buried her face in her hands.

Dean shrugged. They had been there, they had seen it happen, but they had all been so shocked that their hero, their classmate, their friend could be… well, gone, they couldn't take it in.

Silence drifted back and reclaimed the room that would be forever haunted with the spirit of Harry Potter.

Halfway around the world, a young woman tossed in her bed. By what little light the stars gave out, her face was made visible. Her features contorted in an expression of pain. Her breath came in gasps. Her arms and legs tore at the clothing.

Spike watched, tortured by the sight before him. He wanted to wake her up. Wanted to shake her from this horrible nightmare. But he couldn't. Tara had said that. She needed to get through the nightmares as naturally as possible, she said. If it continued too long, only then would she interfere.

They had been going on long enough in his opinion. She had been suffering through these nightmares since the beginning of the summer. Now that school had started she was completely drained.

He watched, in silence.

As he had promised he would.

"Xander you have to sleep." Anya called from the bedroom.

"Be in in a minute!" Xander continued flipping through the channels. He heard Anya sigh, then heard her grumbling as she got into bed, on her own, again.

She wanted to understand. He knew that. But she had lived for a thousand years. She knew all about the life span of humans, one of the reasons she had been so adamant in getting her power back way back when. But while she understood the passing of humans, she couldn't understand the grief of those left behind.

In her dream, Dawn screamed.

"Buffy!" she watched again as her sister leapt from the tower, watched as Buffy's body spasmed as the electricity coursed through her body. Watched as she hit the ground with enough force to kill her, if she wasn't already dead.

She cried.

In her dream she cried. Through the haze that clouded her mind, she became aware of another. A young boy, same age as her, stood a few feet away from her watching. When she had enough breath in her she spoke.

"Who are you?" The boy smiled.

"A friend."

Dawn woke. As usual when she woke, Spike was there. He moved in, holding her in his arms. Dimly, Dawn wondered if Willow knew about that Spike was watching her as she slept. But she didn't really care. All she knew was that she felt safer sleeping if he was there.

When she had stopped shaking, Spike lay her back down.

"Will you be able to sleep now, pet? He asked softly. She nodded. "Good." He moved back to his original position in the chair. She was about to go to sleep when he spoke.

"Who's Harry, pet?"

She frowned.

"I don't know. Why?"

Spike hesitated, wondering if he should tell her that she had been muttered the name in her sleep for a few nights now. He shook his head. She had enough to worry about.

"Never mind, pet. Go back to sleep" She nodded, already half in slumber.

Spike settled back to watch over her, just as he'd promised.


	2. Chapter 2

Timeline: AU after MoM for HP, still end of S5 for Buffy

AN: Thanks to all my reviewers, I never knew there was such joy to be had from reviews!

Summary of Chapter: What did Dumbledore have to say about Draco's behaviour with D. Umbridge... find out here.

(**_flashback_**)

---

This scene takes place the day after the Ministry of Magic debacle.

Draco avoided Dumbledore's stare by having a good gaze around the Headmasters office. The sorting hat situated on one of the top shelves catching his attention and Draco remembered fleetingly how much he had desired be in Slytherin in his first year at Hogwarts.

The sorting hat had barely touched his head when it yelled out, sending him into that den of snakes. He shook his head to clear out the old memories and turned his attention to Dumbledore, aware that the old wizard was now talking to him.

"Excuse me?"

Dumbledore smiled.

"I said, would you like a sherbet lemon?" He said, offering the glass bowl of sweets. Draco dumbly looked at him like Dumbledore had just announced he was the Dark Lord's long lost twin. He had called him to his office to offer him sweets?

Dumbledore sighed.

"Firstly, Mr. Malfoy, as I'm sure you are aware by now, your father has been taken into custody after his involvement in the affair at the Ministry of Magic last night."

Draco remained impassive, his mother having already told him all this, so it was no mean feat.

Again Dumbledore sighed.

"Severus, could you please leave the room."

Snape looked surprised. He moved forward until he was in Draco's line of sight.

"Professor, as his Head of House, I must insist-"

"Now, please."

Snape turned on his heel and strode from the room. Draco caught the look on Snape's face and was glad he wasn't facing the Potions Masters wrath himself. Poor luck on the fool who did.

Dumbledore sat back in his chair. He fixed Draco with what seemed to be a look of great foreboding.

"There is a war brewing, Mr. Malfoy." Dumbledore said bluntly. At this, Draco was surprised. "And what every person in the wizarding world has to decide, what you have to decide is, where does your allegiance lie?" The aged wizard fixed Draco with his kind blue eyes. "I'm not asking for an answer now, Mr. Malfoy. I wouldn't expect you to tell me the truth at this point anyway. I want you to think about it, think long and deep. Because when the time comes, you have to be ready to choose."

You think it's that easy, don't you? Draco wanted to shout. You think it's always that easy. A simple choice? Right or wrong, good or evil, light or dark. What about loyalty? What about family? His rage simmered behind a thin veil.

Dumbledore seemed to sense this. He leaned forward, shuffled a few papers around, giving Draco ample time to get a lid on his feelings. After a few moments, he looked back up again.

The quiet, blank look had returned to Draco's face. In that moment Dumbledore felt all his 115 yrs. Taking a deep, calming breath, he spoke.

"Secondly, there is the matter of your punishment…"

"Punishment? What for?" Draco exclaimed

Dumbledore fixed him with a firm look. "You don't expect your behaviour during the past few months to go unpunished do you? Dolorous Umbridge may have been a headmaster of this school for a short period of time but she did not force you to act the way you did. You had a choice." Draco glowered. Dumbledore continued, "Do you understand the term 'community service', Mr. Malfoy? I daresay you would. It's a muggle term whereby a court of law sentences a law breaker to do work for the local community wherein the law was broken, i.e. picking up litter.

"Of course, technically, there has been no law broken here, nor has there been a court of law. None the less Mr. Malfoy, I am ordering you to complete 100 hrs of community service for your appalling behaviour in the last few weeks."

"What? Picking up litter?" Draco was disgusted by the idea.

Dumbledore chuckled at this.

"If you'd like. However I was thinking something more in the lines of helping Madam Pomfrey in the hospital wing."

Draco looked relieved. Indoor work, that'll be easy, he thought.

"Of course, I must ask you to not aggravate the patients. And to be courteous and civil at all times." Easy-Peasy, Draco mused. "You must do all work or errands that you are asked to do." Okay, maybe not. "And to make sure you do them."

Dumbledore pulled something out of a drawer. It seemed to Draco like a miniature hourglass on a chain.

"This is a timer. While you are on community service the grains of sand will fall from the top to the bottom, in a countdown as it were. However if at any time you do not comply with the rules of your engagement, the grains will fly back up to the top, in proportion, increasing the length of time you must work.

"You must complete a minimum of 30hrs before the end of the school year and the remaining hours can be worked as a volunteer at St. Mungo's."

Draco felt like punching the wizard right into his smug grin. He bore his teeth in what he felt was a smile.

"Do you agree, Mr. Malfoy?" For the first time, there was a hint of steel in the Headmasters voice.

"Do I have a choice?" Draco nearly growled.

"There is always a choice, Mr. Malfoy."

_Yea_, Draco thought bitterly._ This, or expulsion, and there is no way I'm going to be expelled. But then_, he thought, _how bad can it be?_

So he agreed, and was told to report to Madam Pomfrey immediately. As he walked along, he slipped the hourglass into his pocket. He began to fell happier about the type of work as he got nearer to the hospital wing. After all, Potions was his favourite class and this is where he would be seeing the potions in action.

It was only stepping through the doors into the hospital wing that he realised who the patients were and just how hard this was going to be.

"No!"


	3. Chapter 3

**He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and The Boy Who Lived**

The school was, as expected, quiet, following the dramatic announcement in the Great Hall this morning. Owls could be seen going back and forth between the castle and the outside world all day, instead of just at breakfast. Classes were cancelled and students gathered in groups to comfort one another or to piece through the events of the previous day. Rumours as usual spread like wildfire. Nothing was close to the truth.

Voldemort had not been inside the castle. He had not managed to get a spy into the Potions Lab and he had not been the one to kill Harry Potter.

This seemed to greatly disturb the students. Even more so than the fact that a fellow student had died. Without realising it most of them had been waiting for the final showdown between He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and The Boy Who Lived and without this many felt out of sorts, to put it lightly. They were lost.

Their shining beacon in the gathering dark had been extinguished abruptly, and rather violently, if some rumourmongers were to be believed, and they had nobody now to look to besides an old wizard who surely had been the guide but was not the warrior in this fight. Who could they follow now?

Hermione was sitting in an armchair in the common room. Ignoring everything around her. The room was quiet. She wished it wasn't. She wanted to let the noise wash over her and drown out the internal drama. She looked to her left. The armchair usually filled by Ron was empty. Hermione had gotten a letter from Molly Weasley this morning saying that she didn't think Ron was ready to come back to school yet.

Doubtless Dumbledore had also gotten a letter like it. Hermione wasn't really surprised. Ron had been Harry's shadow since they were on the train to school that very first day and, apart from a little spat they had had in fourth year, they had been together since.

She didn't look to her right. That armchair would also be empty. But the different was, the usual occupant would never reclaim it. She squeezed her hands into fists. She wouldn't cry. She had done enough crying. She wouldn't cry.

Unbidden silent tears slid down her face. The room grew blurry and when a fellow classmate came near she couldn't make out the face. She was drawn into a close embrace. Hermione felt tears stain her shirt. One by one the occupants wept for their fallen friend. The Gryffindors' grieved.

Molly lifted the kettle from the fire and poured a hot cup of tea. She put in some milk and sugar and placed it on the stool by Ron's chair. She took away the cold untouched cup that she had replaced.

Ron didn't move.

He stared unseeing into the hearth. He was still in his bed clothes and would probably still be in bed if Molly hadn't forcibly removed him from it. He hadn't moved since.

**Keys**

Breakfast. Bowl, spoon, milk, cereal, banana, she paused. By now Buffy would have taken something, or more likely, she'd have taken something from Buffy which, when her mother had been better anyway, would have caused a fight.

Tara watched.

Dawn continued pouring the cereal and went on as though nothing had happened.


	4. Chapter 4

Making up... Beds and other Dilemmas 

AN: **Flashback no. 2 **

Let me know if it works, I don't have a beta cos she can't get to a computer lately, poor girl!

AN2: Picks up straight after the last flashback.

--

Draco ground his teeth in frustration. Any and all thoughts of an easy punishment went out the window. Having heard the doors open, Madam Pomfrey came out of her inner office to see who had come in.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy," she said. She was abrupt and to the point. "Good to see you. If you'd like to start by changing the bedclothes of the furthest bed down there, the linen is in there, no magic." With that she turned and went back into her office.

Draco grabbed a bunch of bedclothes from the closet and headed to the corner bed. Maybe, just maybe, he could get this done without them waking. He kept his back to the occupied beds and got to work.

"Mr. Weasley, sit up please time for your potion." Madam Pomfrey barked as she came out of the office carrying two goblets, moving with her usual briskness. Ron woke as a shot, flying up in the bed, red hair tossed every which way. He looked around quickly as if he didn't know where he was. He caught sight of the bed to his left and remembered quickly. He took the goblet thrust at him and stared into it.

"Drink up now!" Ron made a face and drank quickly. Madam Pomfrey took the goblet back and Ron dropped back into the pillows.

Draco glanced quickly over his shoulder and saw with relief that the boy's eyes were closed. He tossed the used bedclothes in a pile at the bottom of the bed and started dressing it. He had no choice now but to go to the other side of the bed from where he could look down at the other end of the ward.

Madam Pomfrey was bent over the other bed, gently lifting her head up to drink from the goblet. When she was lain back down, Draco could see her chest moving slowly up and down as if every breath hurt and her face, pinched white. Her eyes were still closed.

He turned away, unable to look.

"Are you happy now?" Ron's voice was angry but quiet, obviously not wanting to wake Hermione up. Draco didn't bother looking up. He couldn't answer back, that would only earn him extra hours stuck here and he didn't want that. 

"Your father was part of it, you know!"

Draco still didn't look up. The next bit threw him a bit.

"Don't you care?"

Now Draco did look up. Ron looked more confused than angry now.

"You father and his 'friends' almost killed an innocent student! Don't you care?"

Draco adopted a look of careless indifference.

"Do I look like I care?" Ron turned away in disgust and Draco went back to making the bed. It was as he was fixing the duvet over the bed when he caught sight of Hermione, lying there, pale and almost motionless, that he realised with a shock that he did actually care!

_Damn!_

Draco straightened up, wincing as his back protested. _How on earth did Muggles do this without magic?_ He wondered. The hospital beds were neat and tidy, and Draco felt a momentary dart of satisfaction at a job well done.

_Stop it_, he told himself. _You're not here to have fun, you're being punished and you're damn well going to feel mad about it!_

He pulled the hourglass out of his pocket to see if the sands had gone down much but there was no noticeable difference. He sighed and decided to ask Madam Pomfrey what he should do next. He hadn't really expected the answer.

"Sweet Merlin, boy," she exclaimed. "Don't be expecting me to be ordering you about and telling you what to do next the whole time. Use your head!" With that she firmly shut the door in his face.

Draco frowned and turned. He glanced along the hospital wing, jumping a bit when he realised that Hermione was watching him, to see what he should do next.

He sighed,_Ignore her_, he thought, deciding that he should continue on the same track and went to fetch a bucket and mop to wash the floor. Only a few hours in and he was already feeling like a house elf. Although at least house elves could use magic.

Hermione watched in amusement as Draco negotiated the beds with the mop, straining to reach under them and getting wetter and wetter. The boy was pure useless with a mop, even if he had managed to make the beds fairly well. She couldn't help feeling a little satisfied that he was being punished for being a complete monster when Dumbledore hadn't been around.

She would have laughed but it hurt to do so. She sighed and reached for the glass of water by her bed.

"Uhhh!" She groaned, shutting her eyes against the pain, and put her hand to her ribs.

"Don't stretch, Hermione. Stretching is bad. Bad is not good." She said aloud, forgetting that she wasn't alone.

"Do you always talk to yourself, Granger?" Draco asked amusement evident in his tone. Hermione scowled.

"Only when there's nobody to hear it Malfoy!" she bit back.

"I'm here!" He pointed out.

"Exactly, Malfoy. Nobody." _Damn!_ Draco came storming over. _Damn… damn… damn… damn…damn! _She hadn't meant to say that, but Malfoy always knew how to bring out the worst in her. Like the time she had hit him.

He stopped just short of the bed. Whatever he had been about to do, he didn't do it. The fear in her eyes jolted him. He stood still for a moment then he reached out, she pulled back instinctively, but he only picked up the glass on the night stand and handed it to her.

"Thank you." Hermione said hoarsely.

He stood there stiffly while she drank it, then refilled the glass from a nearby jug, put the glass and jug back on the stand and moved the stand closer to her bed so she wouldn't have to stretch to reach it next time.

"Thank you!"

He nodded once, then strode off, picked up his mop and began mopping up the floor again. Hermione watched him with sheer wonder in her eyes.

_What just happened?_ She asked herself, but for the life of her she couldn't give herself a proper answer.

She looked over at Ron's sleeping form and wondered what he would say.

Draco Malfoy, highborn, pureblood, was nice to her! A lowly "mudblood"!

_Huh!_


	5. Chapter 5

The rhyme used is one that we used to sing in the playground at school. I'll give the actual one we sang at the end of the fic.

Thanks for sticking with me!

--

Dawn giggled as she ran through the bushes. Twigs crackled underfoot and dry leaves swept through her hair as she ran, she was short enough that the branches weren't a problem. Ahead sunlight shone, beckoning her.

She burst into the sunlight as a fresh wave of giggles overcame her. One part of her knew this was a dream. But that part of her was parcelled away so as not to cause trouble. And this _was_ her favourite dream. She hadn't had it since she'd been told she was the key. Finding out that she was _technically_ only a few months old had spoiled many fond memories for her. Things she thought she'd known she put to the back of her head. Memories that used to make her smile now filled her with… _nothing_.

Ok. that was a lie.

But her memories were confusing. A shoddy patchwork quilt designed by those who'd never known how a little girl should be.

Once, wondering how they had filled her head with memories of a childhood she'd never experienced, she confronted Giles about it. He'd stuttered and stumbled before making some excuse to leave. She'd decided to try and find out herself, looking up memory spells. She'd found what she was looking for in _Commemini–isse_.

Apparently memories could be taken from others around her and fitted to suit her. So that when Joyce had commented that Dawn and Buffy had played the same games when they were young, it hadn't been just coincidence.

That knowledge had nearly torn Dawn to pieces.

She ran on, enjoying the feel of the leaves slapping off her arms. She truly felt like a kid again. And the non-kid part of her revelled in the feeling. This was something that no-one could take from her. She broke into the open whooping with joy. As she ran across the playground she could hear him behind her, calling.

"Wait up! I can't run that fast!" Dawn stopped running as the raven-haired boy bent double panting. She didn't believe him one bit; he'd pulled this trick one too many times before.

Wait.

That thought pulled her up short. Harry grinned at her through the tangled mop that was his hair.

"Why did I think that?" She asked. "Have I met you before?"

Harry grinned.

"It's a dream, Dawnie." He said in his little boy voice. "You know that. Nothing else matters here."

Dawn nodded, then giggled afresh as he threw himself forward, caught her round the middle, tackling her to the ground and tickled her mercilessly.

"I give up! I give up!" She squealed.

Harry sat back on his hunkers and shook his head in mock despair.

"You give in too easy."

"Gotcha!" Dawn yelled as she threw herself at him, tickling him under the armpits, his most vulnerable spot.

"Give in!"

"Never!"

Finally, both breathless, they flopped back on the grass and lay quietly.

"Your turn to pick a game." Harry said. Dawn glanced across, she frowned a moment, thinking. Then smiled.

"Ok, sit up."

"Huh?"

"Up! Sit cross-legged, no facing me. And put your hands up with the palms facing me." Harry complied. "Follow me."

The sound of the children's voices carried across the still air, but there was no one there to hear them. Just the silent movement of the swings and the empty sandbox. They sang.

_Cin-der-ella dressed in yel-la_

_Went up-stairs to meet a fel-la_

_On her way she killed a snake_

_And all Death-Eaters in her wake…_

Their hand clapped in time to the song but Dawn couldn't help feeling the song had changed since she'd last played this game. Clouds were coming up now. The sun was less bright than before.

"Harry?"

"Ya?"

"Where did that come from?"

Harry followed her gaze upwards.

The clouds now fully covered the sky, grey and fierce looking. But nothing compared to the image dancing across their underbelly.

"It's the Dark Mark." Harry said sadly. "He follows me everywhere."

"Who?"

The dream changed and Dawn was now standing in a dark forest. Thick undergrowth blocked her path and over the sound of the wind through the trees she could hear the screams of people too far away to find. A quick glance up showed the Dark Mark still dancing across the dark sky. The snake twisting and writhing as it emerged from the skull.

"Harry!" She screamed, as she turned about looking for the boy. "Harry!"

He stood a few feet away staring into the sky, ignoring the wind as it tore at his clothes.

"He killed my parents, you know" Harry said it so matter-of-factly.

"Harry!"

He looked at her, then turned to walk away.

The forest was gone now to be replaced by a stone chamber. There was one door behind her, an ancient looking thing, and a stand alone mirror off to the side.

"Who killed your parents?" Dawn was completely lost now.

"Voldemort." Harry was standing near the mirror and Dawn could see his reflection in the glass.

"This is where I first met him, and defeated him for the first time, that I remember anyway, when I was eleven." He was beginning to sound angry. "Dumbledore went off and left me to face him all on my own. I was only a boy!" He raged.

"But just as I did when I was a baby, I defeated him, I reduced him to spirit form." Harry turned to her. "That was just one of four times I came up against Voldemort, a wizard so feared by my kind that most are afraid _to say his name_. And I did it." He sighed. "Because I had to.

"What do you know about prophesy, Dawn?"

Dawn huffed.

"Only that it screws up the lives of anybody mentioned. Bloody immutable shite." She muttered. Even though she hadn't in reality been present, her monk-formed memories reminded her exactly what had happened when Buffy had been told of the prophesy of her own death.

Harry nodded.

"A seer made a prophesy about me before I was born. She didn't even know she was doing it and has only made one other that's come true." He paused and took a breath to steady himself. "She said that I would come up against Voldemort and one of us would die."

"Oh!"

"Dawn. Voldemort's still out there. And I'm already dead."

"Wha-"

"I died in a potions accident." Harry said urgently. "Voldemort had nothing to do with it. The prophesy has to be fulfilled. If for no other reason than to save my friends. Please I need your help!"

"Harry, I-"

_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."_

"But what does that have to do with me?" Dawn said, completely bewildered.

"Your birthday is on July 31st, your sister has stopped the world ending three times, and she died to save you, like my mother died to save me." He stepped closer to her. "You've been marked too. That's why I chose you."

"What?" Dawn was furious now. She would not have her life meddled with and picked apart by someone she didn't know, who she'd never met and who was in fact not even alive at this point in time.

"You did this to me! You're setting me up in this! How- How could you!"

"Dawn! Please! I can't leave until this is done! Please, I was given the chance to pick who I thought would be able to do this for me. You can do it Dawn! Please!"

Dawn shook her head, trying to drive away this insistent voice. And then it wasn't just his voice. A multitude of voices cried out for vengeance. And Dawn knew in her heart these voices belonged to those who'd been killed by this evil wizard. Voices, every one distinct, an individual, as if she could reach out and touch them. So much pain. And just two words.

_Help us!_

Dawn cried, tears falling slowly. She sank slowly to the ground, her hands covering her ears trying to block it out. But they were in her head, insistent. She felt a pair of hands on her shoulders. Like a switch had been thrown off, the voices were gone, with just his remaining.

"Dawn?"

"Yes."

She trembled under his hands. But she nodded.

"I'll help."

--

Cinderella dressed in yella (yellow),  
Went upstairs to meet a fella,  
On her way she kissed a snake,  
How many doctors did she take.


	6. Chapter 6

AN: Ok this is following on from where we last saw Hermione. I know I was supposed to put up another flashback of Dracos but my muse was being bold and wouldn't leave me alone til I wrote this chp and then I was too impatient to wait before I put it up... Forgive me?

--

Hermione twisted her hand together in the folds of her robes. She watched the inquisitors as they shuffled their papers impatiently. She felt her stomach wrench as she heard a door bang open at the back of the hall. Quick, light footsteps hurried up the stone floor, each step rapping smartly on the ground.

As the unseen approached, Hermione wondered if this was how Harry had felt when he faced the Wizengamot back before the beginning of fifth year. Hermione quickly swallowed past the lump in her throat. It would do no good to be getting upset this early in the proceedings.

"Alright," the stern voice of Rufus Scrimgeour said in the vast silence. "Now that everybody has been assembled," he said this with a stern glance in the direction of Percy Weasley. Hermione was surprised at him; it was unlike Percy to be late for anything, let alone one of the most important Wizarding cases in the world. Percy blushed, but picked up his quill, ready to take notes as he saw fit.

"We are here today…" Scrimgeour hesitated. "Dumbledore!"

Hermione looked up to see the Headmaster standing at her side looking unusually grim. He nodded to the new Minister. Rufus gestured with his wand to conjure up a seat for Dumbledore, then gestured again to invite the Headmaster to sit down.

"Sorry for the delay." Dumbledore said, then sat back to wait for the proceedings to continue. Scrimgeour nodded, then spoke for the benefit of the note-takings.

"Professor Dumbledore has chosen to forgo his seat on the Wizengamot to be beside the witness."

Hermione felt her hands steady at this reassurance. Scrimgeour went on.

"We are here today to discover the cause of the death of one Harry Potter, student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We have already heard the accounts of Severus Snape, Potions Professor of above, Neville Longbottom, student of same, and Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster. Witness called, Hermione Granger, student of same school." He looked directly at Hermione now. His bushy eyebrows seemed to magnify his intense stare.

"Miss Granger, you were present at the time of the accident?"

She nodded, unable to look at him she just stared at the cold stone floor.

The Ministers tone softened.

"Miss Granger I know this is difficult but you need to speak aloud for the benefit of the note-taker."

Hermione looked up to see Percy bent over his scroll, waiting to continue recording the meeting. For the first time Hermione could see how pale he was and that his eyes were red-rimmed.

Hermione nodded, then hastily said.

"I understand. I was there."

Scrimgeour nodded.

"Could you tell us please for the record, where it happened?"

Her hands trembled.

"We were in the Potions lab. It was our second class of the day about 12 o'clock and we were making the Animorphous Potion. It's supposed to change a person into an animal for an hour. A lot like the Polyjuice Potion." She found solace in detail. It kept her from seeing in her minds eye the outcome of the potion.

"And who was working with Mr. Potter on his potion?" Scrimgeour asked.

Hermione shook her head.

"We were working on our own. Sna- Professor Snape had suggested that we work solo to practice for our exams. Because most important in the exams would be the ability to think clearly and work on our own. Harry was sharing a work-desk with Neville Longbottom."

"Will you tell us how good do you think Harry was in Potions?" Scrimgeour watched intently for her reaction.

"Harry was a good student." Hermione said through gritted teeth.

"And Neville?"

Hermione shrugged, averting her eyes to the floor again.

"He tried hard but he was scared of Snape and that made him nervous in Potions class. He was prone to making mistakes." She could see the muttered conversations between the members of the Wizengamot. She froze. They couldn't possibly think- "He didn't do this. It wasn't Neville's fault!" She protested violently. "It wasn't!"

"I'm not saying that Miss Granger. This was a terrible accident. I'm sure Neville didn't mean to."

"What?" She turned to Professor Dumbledore. "Sir?"

Dumbledore looked straight ahead, not looking at Hermione, he said in a clear even tone of voice.

"Neville Longbottom has already accepted his part in the accidental death of Harry Potter. There will be no trial, nor no punishment set down by this court."

"NO!" Hermione stood. "He didn't do it! He didn't! Neville… Neville looked up to Harry… He would never do this to Harry."

She glared at the Wizengamot defiantly.

Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing, what she was seeing. These wizards were willing to put the blame on an innocent student without the benefit of a full investigation.

"He didn't do it and you lot are too scared to look at the main suspect." She raged.

"Miss Granger!" Scrimgeour protested. "If you will not calm yourself..."

Hermione froze inside. Hermione smiled, a cold, icy, smile.

"I'm calm." She stood up very straight. Then turned abruptly and stalked out of the Chamber.

Dumbledore sighed.

"May I go on record as saying, 'I told you so'?"

Scrimgeour glared. Dumbledore gave a small bow then followed Hermione.

She had burst out into the hall beyond the chamber, trembling with rage at the foolishness of the Minister and the Wizengamot. How on earth they could think Neville had caused the change in the potion that had made it have the reaction it had was beyond her. Neville may have been bad at potions, ok, he was awful, but she had been helping him and he had been doing so much better. Besides what had happened with the potion needed so much more than a simple mix-up, the usual fault of Neville's potions, to change it the way it had.

If only Snape hadn't made Harry drink it. He must have known something was wrong with it by the colour.

But Snape had been as horrified as everyone else at the colour Harry had changed, at the sudden and terrible fit that had come over Harry. And by the complete and utter stillness that had taken over the body of Harry Potter as he passed from this world to the next.

Dumbledore came up behind her as the trembling upped to full scale shaking. He must have been saying something but Hermione heard not a word. She could only remember how excited Harry had been at achieving the required mark for entering 6th Year Potions with Snape. He'd been so excited at the knowledge that he was embarking on the first step to becoming an Auror.

And now he was dead. And Hermione was so scared. He'd left her. He'd been her best friend since 1st year in Hogwarts. The three of them had come through so much together. They'd practically saved the world a few times, had come up against Voldemort too many times to count. And a simple Potions accident had claimed the live of Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived… no more.

Dumbledore muttered something and she nodded. He moved away carefully and she stood on her own, her head down. She was away in her own thoughts when she heard her name being called.

"Hermione?" She looked up, her face was blotchy from tears and her lower lip trembled, but she was more in control. Dumbledore was nearby talking to one of the Wizengamot in quiet hurried tones. Percy stood in front of her looking a bit lost, like he wanted to comfort her but wasn't sure how she'd take it. He settled for handing her a clean handkerchief from his pocket.

"Thanks you." Hermione gently wiped her eyes.

"Hermione, I just… wanted to say…" He hesitated. "I'm sorry… for your loss." It sounded a bit flat but Hermione knew he meant it even so. She nodded, accepting his words. Percy looked a bit relieved. "Look," He hurried on, "I know this isn't the best time but could we talk… I mean…"

He glanced up and around as if worried that someone might be watching or listening.

"It's important." He sounded so serious and Hermione wondered for a moment had something else happened, or did he know something about what happened to Harry, about the Potion. He worked as the Minister's Aide, maybe he'd overheard something. He nodded, as if reading her mind.

"There's a lovely little café off Diagon Alley, in Conduit Lane. It's a nice place to sit for a while." Anybody listening in would have thought that they were having a simple conversation, but Hermione could see the intent in Percy's eyes. He glanced at his watch. "I have to go."

"But-" Had she misread?

"I have an appointment in an hour." He nodded to her.

"Ok." Hermione sighed relieved. Now maybe she would learn something. Anything. She watched as Percy took his leave of Dumbledore and the other Ministry officials still hanging around. As he stepping into the lift to head up to the main floor she caught his eye and he gave her another nod.

Hermione watched the lift slowly head upwards and wondered how she would get away from Dumbledore's careful watch. To her surprise it wasn't actually that hard. Dumbledore came back to her looking a bit grim (this seems like its going to be his look for the year, Hermione thought sadly).

"Hermione," He said. "There are some things I need to arrange here with the Minister. Would you mind waiting upstairs? Or-" He turned as one of the officials called for him.

"I'll take a floo to Diagon Alley. I'll be in one of the café's." Hermione supplied, surprised at his willingness to allow her to go off on her own.

Dumbledore nodded and she headed to the lift, half-expecting at any moment to be called back by someone, anyone, realising that she was heading off for a secret rendezvous with Percy Weasley.

Dear God, please let him have some answers, she prayed.


	7. Chapter 7

AN: Another flashback to Malfoy in the hospital wing.

**It's the same day.**

--

He'd helped her get a glass of water, when it hurt too much too move, then gone straight back to cleaning. Stopping only every now and again to stretch out the kinks as the manual labour took its toll on his body. He ignored them both now, a few hours later, and Ron reciprocated.

But she couldn't stop watching him. He'd helped. Malfoy never helps. He makes snide comments and goes out of his way to be hurtful. But he'd helped… of his own free will.

Sure, he was forced to be in the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey had explained about that before he'd shown up that morning.

As well as the little clause that he could do no harm or in any way aggravate them without incurring more punishment time.

But she hadn't said anything about him being nice. In fact she'd gone out of her way to avoid mentioning that.

It was common knowledge that Malfoy and Harry, and his friends by extension, didn't get on, in the most understated way possible

_Don't look. Ignore her. She's not worth your notice. **Don't Look!**_ It had become his mantra. 

He could feel her gaze on him.

_Don't look!_

Could feel it since he'd helped her get a simple glass of water. You'd think he'd handed her the world on a platter.

_Can't! Won't! Get over it!_

He cleaned and scoured every surface he could reach in an effort to ignore her.

In truth though he didn't know what had stopped him. He'd been ready to hex her, but something had caused him to falter. It wasn't the fact that he'd have earned extra time on the hourglass.

That had only occurred to him after the fact. That was the only reason he wasn't cursing himself for not hexing her while he had the chance.

It had hurt him, almost physically, to see the terror on her face.

Granger had never looked at him that way. She had openly despised him, and been livid with him on occasion, he touched his cheek as if remembering the smack she'd given him in third year, but she'd never been afraid of him.

So he kept working in the hope that if he kept busy he wouldn't have time to think on the basis of his actions. He was currently washing the windows in the vain hope that having his back to her so openly would discourage her from seeking out his gaze, as he could feel her doing.

She had thought he was going to hex her and she'd known she was too weak to stop him.

And he would have. At least before…

"What do you know of our Masters history, Draco?" Lucius asked his only son as the strode along the halls of Malfoy Manor. Well Lucius strode, Draco's young legs nearly ran to keep up with his fathers long legs. Each of the portraits - the lesser known Malfoy's, none of the Lords or more renown ancestors were placed in the halls but were displayed in drawings rooms or ballrooms, according to stature - saluted as they passed.

"They say he was the greatest wizard has ever known, second only to Dumbledore himself" Lucius sneered. "As if they knew the full truth. What our master revealed was only a fraction of his true knowledge. Because even then, Draco, while studying at Hogwarts, he had been delving into what narrow minded people term the dark arts."

He spared a glance for the young boy staring up at him with abject devotion, only seen in the eyes of the young as the watch their parents without the slightest thought that they were just people too and without a fleeting idea that they could be anything but infallible.

"Simple people still scared of the shadows and what they hide." Lucius continued 

"There is no right or wrong only power and those to weak to get it. He taught me that."

They had reached their destination, a private library belonging to the Malfoy Manor and enlarged with each Lord who had taken residence. It was a smaller affair than the Hogwarts library but more select and mainly pertaining to one area of study.

Though the library was large and seemingly without order (a rather complex charm that enabled only the current Lord of the Manor to find anything) Lucius seemed in search of a particular book and walked fairly precisely. He traversed the aisles with Draco in his wake, sometimes running his fingers along the binders of the tomes, almost lovingly, even as some zapped him with magical zings of electricity, until he came to an incongruous looking book.

A diary of some sort.

Draco looked confused even as a malicious grin spread across his fathers face.

After all what harm could a diary cause?

Draco stepped down from the window sill pushing his hair, lank from hard work and toil behind his ear, then grimaced as he get even more grease water on it. He caught sight of Hermione on the opposite side of the room, she seemed to have given up on him and was lying back resting. She still looked pale and weak, and Draco had to remind himself that he didn't care.

She's just a stupid little Mudblood!

_The first one wasn't!_ That niggling little voice in the back of his mind reminded him.

He glanced over at Weasley, as if the red head could read his thoughts.

_His sister, the little one, remember her? She wasn't a Mudblood. She was just handy! _

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind of this traitorous voice, the one that went against everything that he'd ever been told, everything he'd ever been taught by his father.

_Ya, that same father who tried to kill not one, but two students._ The voice whispered conspiratorially, _do you care?_


	8. Chapter 8

An: Went back and edited the previous chps to smooth out plot inconsistencies, they weren't big but they were there. Fixed the last conversation between Hermione and Percy so that he actually names the Lane. Happy reading!

AN2: Last time...

_  
"Look," He hurried on, "I know this isn't the best time but could we talk… I mean…"_

He glanced up and around as if worried that someone might be watching or listening.

"It's important." He sounded so serious and Hermione wondered for a moment had something else happened, or did he know something about what happened to Harry, about the Potion. He worked as the Minister's Aide, maybe he'd overheard something. He nodded, as if reading her mind.

"There's a lovely little café off Diagon Alley, in Conduit Lane. It's a nice place to sit for a while...  
... Now maybe she would learn something. Anything. She watched as Percy took his leave of Dumbledore ...

Hermione watched the lift slowly head upwards...

Sweet Merlin, please let him have some answers, she prayed.

---

The lift stopped a number of times on the journey to the top floor and reception area of the Ministry of Magic. Hermione held her breath each time, but nobody questioned her as to why she was on her own. 

At the top floor she moved rapidly through the crowd to the wand collection point. She then waited impatiently for the slow moving guard to find her wand, make sure she was who she said she was before allowing her to sign out.

She ducked and weaved through the crowd, unsure as to why there were so many people at the Ministry offices today, but she kept moving until she was near enough to see the floos when she suddenly bumped into someone. She muttered a quick apology and was about to leave when the tall figure turned around.

Hermione hesitated. He turned to leave again but she held him back.

"Neville!" He didn't look at her. "Neville, talk to me."

He went slowly red and Hermione could see the tears filling his eyes.

"Oh, Neville!" Hermione put her arms around him, Neville stiffened. "Don't listen to them. Don't listen to any of them. You didn't do it. We both know who did it, they're just too scared to even think it."

She drew back to look him in the eye.

"You hear me?"

"They said-" He attempted.

"No." She glared at him. He looked everywhere but at her.

"He was my friend." Neville whispered. Hermione nodded, blinking furiously. She hugged him again and this time he hugged her back.

"I have to do something about this Neville. I cannot let this miscarriage of justice remain unchallenged." She whispered to him. He tightened his grip on her. "I'll clear you name and we'll identify the real culprit. I promise you that." She felt him nod faintly. Then he let her go.

Hermione could see Neville's grandmother heading towards them, looking thunderous. She gave Neville a quick peck on the cheek, smiled at him, then left before she was confronted with his colossuses of a Gran in a temper.

--

Hermione hurried down the almost deserted street that was Diagon Alley. Glancing about nervously she couldn't help noticing the number of shops that had closed even since she'd been there last. The few people that did walk the street walked quickly, avoided the gaze of their fellows on the street, but at the same time, their eyes darted around constantly searching out any dangers the place could hold.

She almost walked past the lane Percy had mentioned it was so small. It was dark with only a rectangular echo of light on one of the walls, coming from the café she assumed. She nearly ran down the little road darting in the door of the café to get out of the shadowed lane.

It took her a moment to catch her breath once inside, lack of exercise, she told herself, ignoring the stab of fear that dissolved in the warmth of the café.

She looked around. It was much smaller than The Leaky Cauldron but better lit. Most of the warmth came from a large fire in the centre of the opposite wall, but a candle sat on each table and in brackets along the wall. The walls themselves were painted a deep red with veins of a darker colour running through them. There was a counter to her right and a small brown door to her left with the letters WC painted tastefully on it.

The tables were closely packed together in the small space. Hermione counted, there were only eight of them, but they looked cosy, and for the first time in a long time Hermione felt some of the cold surrounding her heart dissolve. If Percy was one to frequent a place like this, there was hope for all of them.

He wasn't here yet but she took a table near the fire, fronting the open door, and ordered a cup of tea and a scone from the waiter when he arrived. Hermione silently thanked him for his silence. She didn't feel like making small talk about why she wasn't at school, the crest on her outdoor cloak proclaiming her a student for all and sundry to see.

She had eaten the scone and was on her second cup of tea by the time he arrived, looking very harassed as he took the seat opposite, his back to the door, thought Hermione disapprovingly. He nodded in greeting to her, then ordered a coffee and waited for the waiter to retreat before saying anything to her.

"You must be wondering about why I asked you to meet me here." He said, glancing over his shoulder as if checking they wouldn't be over heard, the place was empty but he didn't seem to relax.

"It is a little odd." She agreed.

"Isn't it even more odd that the Ministry would close Harry's case so easily, so quickly, without even knowing what killed him?" He leaned forward, his voice no more than a whisper. Hermione was shocked.

"But they said-"

"I know what they said, I drafted the press release." He glanced over his shoulder again. "But what they didn't say, not outright, is the ingredient that killed Harry."

"They don't know?" She asked horrified, if the Ministry didn't know, they couldn't possibly be able to confirm whether it was an accident or…

"They don't know why it is. How it reacted like that. They don't even know how the ingredient got there in the first place. And it's altogether possible it was simply switched with one of his actual ingredients. You said yourself that Harry was a good student. But would he have recognised if one of his potion ingredients was switched while he wasn't looking."

He shook his head. 

"They don't know." He said.

Hermione just sat there stunned. Harry had been deliberately murdered and nobody was doing anything about it. Instead they found an easy scapegoat and ruined somebody else's life.

"We can't just let them get away with that!" She said aghast. "We have to… Percy we have to do something!"

"Do what?" He looked miserable. "They're covering it up. Everybody who knows even the littlest bit about the case has to report to the Department of Mysteries this evening for Oblivation!" Hermione gasped. "There's nothing I can do." Now his eyes bored into her.

She slumped. She knew what Percy was asking of her. But could she?

Go behind the Ministries back and try to investigate this when everybody who knew about it today would know nothing tomorrow. Where could she even begin?

He glanced over his shoulder again before delving into his robes and pulling out…

Hermione's eyes went round as saucers. He handed her the vial and she quickly hid it again in her own robes.

"Don't show that to anybody, not even my brother." He stood up. "I've got to go. I can't help you any more. The next time we meet I won't even remember this conversation." He left some money on the table. He nodded at her again, and walked out, leaving Hermione in a whirlwind of confusion.


	9. Chapter 9

Dawn was dreaming.

Harry was with her and he had something to show her. 

"What is it?" She asked. Even in her dreams she was impatient.

"Wait and see." He turned to look at her, his young face beaming with untold delight. He looked about 11. Which should have confused Dawn, since he normally looked around 15, same as her. But, as before, it felt natural.

They appeared to be in a boat crossing a glassy lake at night. She looked around and saw other boats around the same shape and size heading in the same direction. There were four in each boat, all around the same age, though she saw one boat with a small blonde boy and his two goons taking up the whole of one boat. Everybody was staring ahead as if waiting for something. Waiting for what though?

She looked forward and had her answer in the next second. Rising behind the huge cliff on the other side of the lake was a huge castle. Lights beamed in the windows, turrets jutted into the air, it had an older then King Arthur feel to it. It looked…

"Magnificent!" Dawn gasped.

Harry grinned.

"Where are we?" She asked. He was staring ahead with a kind of hunger on his face.

"Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry." He said. Now he turned to look at her. "My home."

"You live at school? Wacky. What do your parents think of that?" She could have kicked herself at the look on his face as she said that.

"They're dead."

"Oh, I'm sorry." She reached out to him. "But you must have someone at home."

Harry's head sunk low on his chest and shook his head.

"I lived with my mother's sister, but she hates magic. They think I'm a freak."

"Well I can completely understand." Dawn said, remembering how she'd felt when she found out she was the key. She knew they'd looked at her different after that. Then she saw Harry's face.

"Oh no! Harry. That's not what I meant. I just-" She took his hand. "I know what it's like being different."

He smiled.

"Thanks."

They sat in silence for a moment. Then Dawn spoke again.

"So… this is where you grew up."

He just looked at her, heartbroken.

"This is where I died."

--

She woke, her heart thundering in her throat.

"You ok?"

Dawn jumped. She flicked the switch on her night light and peered into the shadows of her room.

"Who's there?" She asked softly. 

She gasped when she saw him step out of the shadows. 

"How?"

He shook his head.

"We share a bond now. I'll be with you until whatever end. Nobody else will be able to see me or hear me." He moved closer, till she could reach out and touch him, if she wanted to. He stretched out his hand to her, but she stayed back, too scared to move.

"You said you'd help." He reminded.

She nodded.

"I will." 

"You never asked what that entailed." He said. She didn't move to say anything. He went on. "I suppose I should tell you what my story is."

She sat up against the headboard and pulled the blankets up around her, ready to listen. He looked nervous for a second before he attempted to sit on the bed near her. They both let out a sigh when he settled rather easily on the comforter.

"I was scared I was going to fall through it." He admitted. She grinned in sympathy, but still said nothing.

"I died." He said. "I thought I'd go to heaven, if it exists. Thought it was all over. But they called me back. Said I could have a choice; go to my afterlife and all that entailed, leaving my friends and loved ones to their doom, or I could go back and help, find the one other person who could help me and guide them to the end battle.

"I nearly chose the first one. After all, my entire family have gone to heaven. I could finally be with them. But I guess I'm a sucker for punishment." He grinned wryly.

"Why did you choose me?" She asked, finding her ragged voice. He shrugged.

"Dunno. I nearly choose Neville, just 'cause the original prophesy might have meant him, until Voldemort chose me instead. But you have something he doesn't have." He stared hard at her. "Your sister died for you, like my mother died for me. That's blood magic, magic the Dark Lord didn't think about when he tried to kill me the first time. Because of my mother's sacrifice, I was protected against his touch; it saved my life a number of times.

"You have that same protection, given to you by your sister." He relaxed a bit. "Besides which, you're resourceful, clever, quick-thinking, I bet you'd give Hermione a run for her money."

They sat in silence for a moment. Then Dawn spoke again.

"Tell me your story."

She listened as he told her the history of Voldemort's reign, about how his family came into it and how his parents were betrayed. He told how he was brought up by his aunt and uncle who did their best to stamp out any traces of magic in him, about the fiasco with his school letters and finally finding out he was a wizard, and a famous one at that.

She listened as he told her about the school, love and pride in his voice as he spoke. He told her about the Philosopher's Stone and his first year in Hogwarts and the friends he made.

She gasped when he told her about the Chamber of Secrets and how they all thought he was the Heir of Slytherin. How Ginny had almost died but he'd saved her and been saved in turn by Fawkes, Dumbledore's Phoenix.

About Sirius and how they'd met. And the rat that wasn't a rat.

The TriWizard Tournament and the Tasks, the Maze and being sent to the graveyard to battle it out with Voldemort in the flesh.

About the connection he'd shared with Voldemort and the visions he'd received and saving Ron's father. The fear he'd felt that it could all be his fault. The vision that Voldemort had sent him and tricked him with. The fight in the Department of Mysteries, Sirius dying and the knowledge that it _was_ his fault.

Starting back at school with that guilt nagging at him and the Potions class where it had all come to an end so quickly.

"I was sure I'd followed the instructions properly. I'd been careful about that 'cause I knew Snape would look for any excuse to dock marks. But it didn't even look the right colour." He scowled. "But Snape still made me test it. So I took a big gulp. Sweet Merlin! Did it taste horrible!

"I choked on it instantly… I couldn't breathe, couldn't gag. It felt like my throat had seized. Then I felt like I was being pulled in a dozen different directions all at the once. It hurt so much.

"And then it just stopped hurting." He turned back to her. "I was nearly in Heaven and now I'm here."

If he could still feel, his throat would have hurt him he'd talked so long. Out the window, the sky was beginning to lighten and the birds were tuning up.

Dawn hadn't said anything since he'd begun his story.

"You ok?"

She nodded.

"You should get some sleep." He told her. She agreed faintly and slid beneath the covers. She turned her face to the morning glow and Harry saw her eyes flutter and close. Her face was pale from exhaustion and shock. Her breathing evened and she slept. Harry moved from the bed to a nearby chair. If he closed his eyes and told himself it was all a dream, he'd wake up in Hogwarts in the bed near the window with his friends round him.

But he didn't wake and Harry was left with the slow even breathing of the one girl who might be able to help him and save him in the process


	10. Chapter 10

Dawn sat bolt upright, breathing heavily, sweat cooling on her skin. The nightmare faded from her minds eye but the fear and horror that came with it didn't fade as easily.

It had been a week since she'd made that choice, since she had first heard those voices calling, pleading for help, and every night since she had woken from nightmares. They were never the same. But they had a similar vein running through them. Fear, betrayal, death. Every night she was killed. And every morning she woke with that same feeling of dread.

She couldn't be sure the dreams were real. Her gut reaction was that she was experiencing the deaths of those who had fallen to Voldemort's reign, or had fallen to his evil reign. Her head said she could be making the whole thing up.

But it was too real to really think that.

The sun was already beginning its ascent into the heavens, _no point staying in bed_, she thought.

She pushed the bedcovers back and stood. She let out a yelp of surprise when she felt her legs give way beneath her. She fell to the ground with a thump. Last nights dream had taken more out of her than she had originally thought. She struggled back onto the bed and lay there for a moment, eyes closed, trying not to see visions of people in robes dieing in a flash of green light.

"You ok?" Harry asked, three days since he'd shown up in her room out of the shadows and she still wasn't used to having a boy, dead or not, in her room.

She nodded, eyes pinched shut to keep back the tears.

"That was a bad one, wasn't it?"

She nodded again, it hurt to talk yet. It wasn't just the dreams though. This would be her last night sleeping in her own bed, and that had only hit her now, in the fevered aftershock of the nightmare.

"Those poor people! Tortured!" She gasped. "How could anyone do that?"

There was no reply.

"Harry?"

He wasn't looking at her. He wasn't really looking at anything.

"Harry?" She would have reached out to him but her hand would just go straight through him and she couldn't handle that right now.

"You knew them didn't you? The wizards I dreamt about last night?" While he didn't dream with her, since he didn't sleep, he still saw them in his own way. Just another aspect of the bond that would tie him to her until either she or Voldemort died.

He shook his head.

"Their son. I went to school with him. He was only a baby when they were tortured by Voldemort's followers looking for information. They lost their minds." He said blankly. "They don't even recognise him. And you know… For the first four years I knew him I never even bothered to ask why he had grown up with his Grandmother, or why he never mentioned his parents." If he could have cried he would have.

Dawn shrugged.

"People just assume you don't want to talk about it." She said to him.

"Do you?" He asked carefully.

She shrugged again.

"I'm getting used to not talking about it." She looked away. "They don't want to listen."

"I'll listen." Harry told her gently. She smiled and glanced away from his eyes, so honest and compassionate. She took a breath and started talking, about how she and her mum used to stay up late and drink hot chocolate, "with those little marshmallows", waiting for Buffy to come home, or when the three used to rent out stupid movies for a laugh, or Buffy's 17'th birthday when all they'd had was a cupcake and they'd just cuddled and watched the flame burn out.

Harry listened and watched, wishing he could put his arms around her and hold her as she cried, remembering all the happy times with her mother and sister, before her mother had gotten sick, before the slayer.

--

Downstairs Spike sat with his head cocked to the ceiling. Willow glanced at him and then up and towards Dawns room.

"She talking to herself again?"

He nodded, looking guilty. He never told Willow or even Tara what Dawn talked about when she was alone in her room, but he could never stop himself listening.

Part of it was that he was genuinely worried about the 'bit, as he liked to call her. But another part of him, the part he didn't like to confess to, was curious. He wanted to hear her stories about Buffy, about Buffy before he'd meet her, about the side of her she had never allowed him to see very often, but often enough for him to fall in love with her.

Willow was in the kitchen with Tara talking about Dawn and this new development so he leaned his head back again, closed his eyes and listened. As Dawn spoke, he could see _her_ in front of him, moving - fighting or dancing, it was all the same to him, and he had always loved to watch her move.

--

Willow had baked cookies and was now sitting on the end of her bed offering them with a glass of milk. Dawn knew trouble when she saw it. But she accepted the cookies with a smile and took a bite while she waited for whatever it was Willow was going to come out with.

It took a lot of throat clearing for Willow to take the plunge.

"We- ah… Tara and I, I mean… We're worried… about you. You barely leave your room lately. I know things have been hard for you… for all of us lately, since-" She looked away awkward. "But you were doing so well. And now…" She hesitated.

Dawn froze. They couldn't possibly know about Harry could they? But only she could see him, right? She looked over to the window where he stood, gazing out the window, trying to ignore the conversation going on behind him. Willow followed her gaze for a moment.

"Dawn?" She looked down at the bedspread, then back up again. "You've been talking to yourself."

It was a statement of fact, not a question. Dawn was shocked.

"Spike could hear you." A hint of pink coloured Willows cheeks as if she were confessing some dirty little secret. Dawn didn't know what to say or where to look. 

"Dawn-" Willow took her hand, gave it a squeeze. "You can talk to us."

She wanted to, she really did. But she shook her head. They would try to stop her or worse, try to help. They would get hurt because of her again. Tara was only beginning to get over it. And Xander… Xander would never get over the loss of Buffy. Anya had been over to the house three times in the last two weeks looking for help because she couldn't get through to him. 

"It's ok, Willow. I'm ok." She took her hand back. Willow looked downcast as she left the room, which made Dawn feel even more guilty, over what she'd done. Over what she had to do. Dawn could barely swallow because of the lump in her throat.

She hugged her pillow to her chest and bit her tongue against the tears. She could almost feel the bed sink where Harry sat beside her.

"You don't have to go." He told her. But he was lying. She had made her choice. And she wouldn't go back on that. She couldn't. Even while she was awake now she could almost hear their voices, calling to her. No longer pleading with her. But like a siren song, they were drawing her to them. Dawn knew she would go mad if she couldn't do anything to lay these voices at rest.

"I have to. I have to help them and I can't do that from here."  
She put the pillow aside and grabbed her book bag, now empty. He never suggested that she tell one of the adults. Because he knew she wouldn't, or couldn't put her family in danger again so soon after the whole affair with Glory.

She grabbed clothes at random, packing a few sweaters at Harry's suggestion, hiding a few knives and what money she had in the layers. She had a few valuables so she could maybe pawn them, her pocket money would only go so far.

She hid the bag under her bed and left the room then. She wanted to spend some time with her family before she left, she didn't know when she would see them again, if ever.

--

Dark had fallen about an hour ago and Spike had practically fled from the house. He kicked a can as he walked down the street. The sound of the metal skitting across the ground grated at him but he had way too much pent up energy. He'd been inside too long. He'd hardly left the house these last few weeks, needing to be near the Dawn, to make sure she was safe. But it felt good to be out, be part of the night. Even if his most fearsome activities tonight consisted of beating up a drinks can.

But he found other entertainment soon enough. He joined a poker game and blatantly cheated to pick a fight which cheered him up immensely. But still he was back at the house before the night was done. Wouldn't do for the sun to rise and trap him from his girl.

He lay on the sofa listening to the quiet noises that were the sound of home. The gentle sighing of the house settling. The sound of the branches as they brushed the windows. The heartbeats that both tortured at the demon in him and soothed his more human nature.

All of a sudden he jumped. He fell out off the sofa and rushed up the stairs, where was the third heartbeat? He ran past the master bedroom, down the hall to Dawns room.

He shoved the door open and let it bang against the wall, uncaring.

The room was empty.

The bed was made.

He sniffed, her scent was old, stale.

She'd been gone for hours.

His bellow of rage woke the couple in the next room.

---

I'll be continuing this story as a series. Don't worry it won't be long before I have the next chp up.


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